


It Ain't Yours to Throw Away

by sarahreads



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Song Lyrics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-17
Updated: 2014-07-17
Packaged: 2018-02-09 08:04:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1975314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahreads/pseuds/sarahreads
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry wants to stop being a hero. Draco won't let him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Ain't Yours to Throw Away

(Lyrics from Nashville Cast - Sam Palladio and Clare Bowen)

_That same road that brought you here_  
 _will sure as hell take you home_  
 _The life you left behind will have you back_  
 _You’re tired of paying dues in worn out shoes_  
 _and Broadway blues_  
 _And any fool will tell you_  
 _the damn ol’ deck is stacked_

He stood by the lake in his dirty denims and ragged jumper, dirty and bloody and slumped as if the idea of straightening his spine was too heavy to consider let alone performing. Mist rose around him in slow swirls, shrouding him from all eyes but Draco’s as he stood feet away, close enough to touch his shoulder. The acrid scents of burning wood and curses clouded the air, singeing his throat with a terrible taste that no amount of swallowing could pass.

For a moment Draco considered stepping away, backing up until the lake mist hid away the savior, turning around to take that weary climb up the hill alone back toward the ruin and the death and chaos of the battle just finished. He didn’t take that step back though his feet refused to take a step forward to Potter. He felt as if he should leave Potter to his despondency and let the mist offer what comfort it could, but he could be selfish here and want to offer comfort to Potter himself.

Green eyes flashed and black brows drew together and Draco was too tired to flinch when he realized the wand was pointed at him, inches from his throat. He felt Potter’s warm breath on his lips, the scent of sweat and blood and tears and dirt mingling together. And then he realized he had his hands cupped under Potter’s elbows, and Potter’s free hand rested heavily on his shoulder. “I’ve got you,” he whispered gently, carefully, enticingly, and he found it unsurprising when Potter collapsed into his arms, a desperate keen of grief and sorrow tearing through his throat.

Draco kissed him gently, carefully, enticingly, holding Potter tightly against his chest as he murmured quiet nothings of reassurance, letting Potter know it wasn’t his fault, everything would be fine, he was safe, he was . . . loved. He drew long, pale fingers through Potter’s dark hair, absentmindedly appreciating the contrast as he calmed the storm in his arms.

When the tears ran dry and the shaking stopped, Draco finally relaxed, wincing at his sore muscles. His back throbbed a bit and he wondered if he’d been hit with a curse. Perhaps he was just getting old. “We need to go back. They’ll need our help.”

It was quiet and Draco thought maybe Potter had fallen asleep. Which was fine. This was their third case in two weeks, each longer and bloodier than the last, but it was also the third case where there were no survivors. Draco knew his partner, his lover, his Harry, could not go on much longer. He had a gift; the highest clearance rate in the Aurors, the most victims rescued and the most criminals put in Azkaban. But that didn’t mean there weren’t cases like this, cases where they were too late to save anyone and too late to put the criminal away for good.

Potter stirred and strong hands pushed against his chest until Potter rose off the ground and sat back on his heels. He shoved his fingers under his glasses with a careless exasperation, smudging dirt and blood on his face as he attempted to wipe his tears. “Sorry,” he whispered, his voice hoarse.

Draco’s smile was forced and he knew it. “It wasn’t your fault,” he repeated. “Say it,” he demanded.

“I should have figured it out faster.”

“Are you saying it’s my fault?” Draco asked casually, studying the ground. It was in a way. Harry was the magic, Draco was the brains. At least that’s what they said in the office. Not that it was ever that simple, of course. Draco was better at anticipating, plotting, seeing the pieces of the puzzle come together into the larger picture. Potter was the action, the duel, the one who acted when necessary. Together they were unstoppable, but even Draco could admit that sometimes it wasn’t enough.

Potter’s face was a frozen mask of horror. “What? No! Malfoy,” Potter demanded, tilting Draco’s head back with dirty fingers under Draco’s chin. Draco shivered as all the power and intensity that made up Harry Potter focused on him completely. It was unnerving, and yes, intensely arousing no matter how inappropriate the time, to be the focus of all that attention. “It was not your fault.”

“And not yours,” Draco repeated, again.

Potter sighed heavily and stood, looking around on the ground. “Where are my robes?”

Draco sighed, letting Potter’s avoidance attempt pass. “Up the hill.” It was like a trail of breadcrumbs, Potter’s clothes. He shed them like a path of chaos, in the office, in his house, at a crime scene.

“Right, got in the way,” he murmured. He swayed, his face pale. He licked his lips, grimacing when he realized it was split. “Malfoy?”

Draco raised a blond eyebrow, wasted on Potter since he was still looking at the ground.

“Draco?” he whispered, finally looking up. His green eyes were clear. “This is my last mission.”

And Draco’s world ended.

_And all of the players, the movers, and shakers_  
 _The star maker suits have gone home_  
 _Your drew the last slot_  
 _You thought it was your shot_  
 _But now it’s just one more chance blown_

Draco sat at his desk, spotless and organized and clean but for an open file, a half-finished report, and his self-inking quill, and he felt . . . empty. Potter’s seat was empty but his desk was as chaotic as ever with scraps of parchment, copies of old cases, newspaper clippings, and various odds and ends that he managed to pick up everywhere he went. Draco wasn’t certain how Potter got any work done on it but after seven years of partnership Draco knew quite a bit got accomplished amidst the disorder.

Draco had managed to convince Potter not to return directly to the office and hand in his resignation. Instead, Potter was at home in his charm workshop with two weeks of his accumulated vacation finally being used, much to the dismay of the Head Auror and much to the happiness of the WR department. Which meant Draco had two weeks to come up with a plan to make sure Potter didn’t quit.

He just sat.

It felt like minutes but must have been hours when he realized someone was sitting on the corner of his desk. He looked up and saw the Weasel gazing back at him, eyes concerned and arms folded across his chest. “Weasley,” he greeted, though he’d been calling him Ron in his head since Training. Just easier when there were so many of the gingers running about the ministry. 

“Where’s Harry?” Ron asked, tipping his head in the direction of Potter’s empty desk. His eyes softened even as his mouth tightened when Draco said nothing. “That bad?”

Draco nodded. 

“Shite.” The ginger bit the corner of his nail. “I can talk to ‘Mione. She might know what to do?” He asked. 

“Last time she did he disappeared for a week,” Draco reminded Ron. 

“Maybe you both should transfer to Artefacts for awhile?” Ron asked.

“We did that three months ago and then Potter heard about the missing Nott girl and we both ended up in St. Mungo’s for three days and right back in Missing Persons and Kidnapping,” Draco pointed out. “He’s too good at this. He’s driven back each time and it’s breaking him,” Draco admitted, desperation coloring his tone. Normally he would never reveal such personal feelings, but this was Ron and Draco had discovered during training, much to his dismay and Potter’s amusement, that he both liked and respected the git.

Ron looked dejected though, and there was an air of hopelessness about that Draco did not appreciate when he had enough of that feeling in himself. He relied on Ron’s idealism to balance his own endless cynicism. “We’ll think of something,” Ron assured him. “Between the two best strategists in the Aurors we can’t lose.” Draco covered his face, knowing Ron well enough to hear Ron didn’t believe it this time.

_And our town is cold as January_  
 _Life comes true, and dreams get buried_  
 _Every day …_  
 _Destiny won’t be denied_

Draco lay curled on the floor in the cellar holding his arms tightly wrapped around his chest as he tried not to shiver. His chest throbbed with each beat of his heart and what had been agonizing pins-and-needles in his legs had faded away into numbness an hour ago. He knew it wasn’t a good sign but he couldn’t deny the relief he’d felt. 

The little girl he’d been looking for was locked in a small cage on the other side of the eight by eight foot room. She hadn’t moved or made a sound when they’d dropped him down the trap door and it was too dark to be certain but Draco feared she was dead. Thank Merlin that Potter wasn’t with him on this case because another failure like this one would certainly have been the final sticking charm on the tomb door.

The dark curled around him, and Draco wished Potter was with him anyway. Potter would be plotting by now, checking the walls for an exit, testing the anti-apparition wards and healing up Draco’s wounds with a fierce mutter about Draco’s inattention.

He blinked, wondering if it was worth trying to rub the blood from his eyes again or better to try and keep warm, when he heard the sounds of battle above. Ron hopefully, and his partner Phillis Templeton, an enthusiastic duelist with more guts than skill. Draco had left a file with his plan on Ron’s desk. Since he had been working alone for the past week it seemed prudent for at least someone in the department to know where he was if something happened.

Light filled the cellar and Draco shut his eyes, hissing against the pain that beat in his head. Someone dropped to the floor and he felt gentle hands touching his face. Familiar hands.

Draco forced himself to blink until he could focus on the brilliant green eyes inches away from him. They glistened and a relieved smile touched Potter’s full lips. Potter’s fingers brushed against Draco’s lips. “The girl?” he managed to get out, though it was painful to speak.

“Ron’s got her. She’s alive. Hold on, I’m apparating us to St. Mungo’s.”

Draco passed out as he felt the pull.

_It ain’t yours to throw away_  
 _It ain’t yours to throw away_  
 _Every time you open up your mouth_  
 _Diamonds come rolling out_  
 _It ain’t yours to throw away_  
 _No…_

Potter’s hands wrapped tightly around Draco’s own, as if the careful grip could both warm Draco and keep him safe. He relaxed in the hospital bed and admitted he did feel safe, at least when Potter was close.

“I should have been there,” Potter admitted.

Yes, Draco wanted to say but didn’t. “You needed time,” he said instead. It was true enough.

“I’m your partner,” Harry told him, his clear eyes focused on Draco’s grey ones. He leaned forward and kissed Draco, once, twice, again and again until a throat cleared from the doorway.

“I see you’re feeling better,” Ron said with a friendly smirk. He stepped closer to the bed with his hands tucked deep into his pockets. “Glad you’re alright, mate.”

“Me too,” Draco assured him.

They talked about nothing in particular for awhile, Ron sharing stories about his precocious daughter, who at two-years-old seemed to carry a dangerous mix of Hermione’s ability to absorb information like a sponge, Ron’s strategic brilliance, and the typical Gryffindor bravery and recklessness that provided endless stories of terrifying adventures. Eventually Ron left them to return to the office leaving Harry and Draco to themselves.

“You won’t quit,” Draco asked, though he felt confident about the answer.

Potter shook his head. “I thought about it. For real this time. I just -” He looked away. 

“You blame yourself when we can’t save them,” Draco answered. “And there will still be many times in the future where we still won’t save them. But how will it help if you aren’t there?”

Potter nodded and met Draco’s eyes. “Yes. I realized that it’s both of us, together, that manage to save so many. And I need to start remembering the ones we do save and not focus as much on the ones we can’t.”

“Put the blame where it belongs,” Draco said gently, repeating a lesson drilled into them time and time again in training. “You’re a hero,” Draco told him, saying out loud what so many said over and over but Potter usually dismissed. “Not because you saved the wizarding world, and not because you’re an Auror and you save people every day. You’re a hero because you can’t help but do the right thing. You’re a hero because you can’t help but protect those who need you.”

Potter hummed agreeably. He leaned forward and kissed Draco’s lips. “Move in with me.”

Draco frowned, stilling his lips though Potter still nibbled on them. “What?”

“Not just a drawer here and there and a night here and there. Move in.” He pulled back and Draco smiled slightly when he realized Potter still held his hands. “Marry me,” Potter whispered, forcing Draco to focus on his face. “We’re better together. I need you. And you need me too.” _I love you,_ Draco heard the words unspoken.

Draco relaxed, radiating happiness. He turned his hands until he was holding Potter’s, _Harry’s_ , hands instead and squeezed. “Okay.” _I love you,_ Draco repeated as Harry kissed him again.

_It ain’t yours to throw away …_

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at fan fiction. I hope the story was enjoyable and thanks for giving it a try!


End file.
